


temporary absentmindedness

by starblessed



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, really just softness tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24371764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: What sort of person, Joe remembers thinking that day, could sit here in the middle of all that shit, all that chaos… and grin like that?What sort of person is George Luz?Now, he doesn’t have to wonder(When George is knocked out of action in Holland, Joe gains a new perspective on things.)
Relationships: George Luz/Joseph Toye
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	temporary absentmindedness

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, the characters in this fic are based off of their fictional portrayals from the miniseries Band of Brothers, and I mean no disrespect to the real-life veterans!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [renelemaires](http://renelemaires.tumblr.com/)!

George Luz found him once, in the chaotic hours after Normandy, when no one had a clue where they were headed next. Joe still remembers the ache radiating throughout his entire body, exhaustion weighing him down, his adrenaline simmering like a kettle on the stove. They were all sitting on barrels of gunpowder that day, just waiting for it to blow. No one had any clue who’d survived and who was gone; the fact that you survived yourself seemed like a fever dream. Every few minutes, Joe expected to squeeze his eyes shut, and open them to find himself back in that dark, rattling C-47 over the skies of Normandy.

Instead, he opened his eyes, and Luz was beside him, grinning like a fool.

“So,” he drawled, “two grenades, and no dice? That’s gotta be a record, Joe.”

In response, he just shrugged, shifting the arm that wasn’t radiating pain in his lap. Luz caught the movement and looked down; he took in the bandage wrapped stubbornly-tight around Joe’s one hand, where it had gotten torn up in the wires of his chute, and the other hand, still wearing his telltale brass knuckles. A low huff escaped him. When Luz leaned his shoulder against his, Joe didn’t pull away.

“Not trying to set any,” he replied, frowning up at the clouded sky. “If God doesn't throw anything else at me, I’m not gonna complain.”

“Yeah, and we both know how likely that is.”

Joe huffed through his nose, the closest to a laugh he could get without hurting all over. Victory shone in Luz’s eyes. It crinkled them at the corners, adding a funny kind of glow to his face, and his smile… that damn smile, the George Luz smile that drew you in and refused to let you go easy, that smile was in full force.

 _What sort of person,_ Joe remembers thinking that day, _could sit here in the middle of all that shit, all that chaos… and grin like that?_

_What sort of person is George Luz?_

Now, he doesn’t have to wonder. They’ve been together long enough; he’s seen enough of Luz’s soul, in flashes and laid bare before him. He knows Luz like the back of his hand now; that smile, that reckless, irrepressible smile, is like a flame in a mineshaft, always burning, radiating light and warmth out to the people who need it most. It’s a spark of hope in the dark, a bright thing where bright things aren’t meant to exist.

Here’s the thing about flames down in the mines, though — they’re not supposed to go out.

When they go out, something is very fucking wrong.

Joe hesitates in the doorway before deciding against knocking. Not like it would do any good, anyways. Luz’s back is turned, and he doesn’t move even when Joe lets the wooden door creak closed behind them.

They’re only staying in this farmhouse for a night; Luz gets his own room, because there’s nowhere to send him in the middle of nowhere Holland, and it’s not safe to drive him by night anyways. Besides, there’s not much the aid station could do for him. Physically, he’s fine — a few cuts on his face where shrapnel hit, but Doc Roe’s taken care of that. Maybe he’ll have some weird bruises. Getting hit with a grenade’s damn weird; Joe would know.

“Hey, Luz,” he says, just to try it. Luz doesn’t reply.

 _“It’s probably temporary. He wouldn’t be the first,”_ was all Roe said, with a regretful twist to his mouth that made it plain he’d like to do more. No one blames him for being human, though, just like no one blames Luz for getting caught too close to the grenade in the first place.

Amazing it didn’t blow him to bits instead of just blowing his hearing out, lucky bastard.

Joe takes it slow, skirting around the edge of the room so he gradually appears in Luz’s sight line. The last thing he means to do is startle him, but he has that effect anyways. Luz jumps, his hunched position stiffening into something defensive; Joe has just enough time to watch the mile-long stare on his face shift into surprise, before Luz forces it into something friendly instead. That’s… probably the idea. He just comes off looking exhausted and in pain — which he’s gotta be.

“Hey, Joe,” Luz says, but the words come out wrong — flat, unformed, like a kid’s drawing with no outline. Joe huffs. He knows he’s not supposed to talk, the idiot.

Instead of humoring him with a response, Joe takes a step forward, inclining his head towards the space on the bed next to Luz.

“Yeah! Sure, sure.” Luz shuffles over hastily. “Make yourself at home.”

“Cut it out, Luz,” Joe says, though he knows the other man can’t hear it.

“Nice digs, huh? I get a room to myself… fancy, very fancy. Practically the Ritz.”

That’s another thing about George Luz — he never stops talking. If he stops talking, it means not only is something very fucking wrong, but he’s willing to admit it.

Maybe that’s why Luz _can’t_ stop talking.

The thought leaves Joe’s mouth dry, an ache in his chest like it’s been hollowed out by its own grenade blast. His hand finds Luz’s back, and in an instant his words cut off. As silence fills the room, Luz draws in a deep breath. Joe feels it underneath his hand, and feels the way Luz holds it.

He doesn’t need to do this. Not here, not now… not with him. Doesn’t he get it?

After a long moment, Luz turns his face towards Joe. There’s no hint of a smile now. Instead, it’s something sharper, which hits Joe like a blade to the gut — vulnerable dark eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, and _fear_ that carves itself into every groove and every dimple of Luz’s expressive face.

If Joe could chase that fear away, he could. If he could swing and rage and make it all better… if he could fix Luz through willpower alone…

Joe remembers it all now, but when Liz smiled in Normandy, he forgot — just for a second, he was able to forget his torn up hand, the bitter stench of gunpowder, the wailing of wounded horses, and the echo of explosions ringing in his ears. Luz took the pain away, and left something warm in its place.

Joe can’t do that, but he can try.

Gently, his hand finds Luz’s face. As a roughened palm cups his jaw, he swipes his thumb over the still-raw shrapnel wounds. When Luz flinches in spite of himself, Joe’s gaze doesn’t waver. Slowly, his finger moves, until it finds Luz’s chapped lips. When Luz opens his mouth to say something else, Joe just holds it there.

Luz doesn’t make a sound. He stays very, very still… and after a moment, releases a shaky breath instead.

He slumps against Joe, and that’s that — no way can Joe leave when Luz needs him, and no way is Luz getting up when he’s already found a suitable pillow. He ends up sitting there for an hour, watching Luz doze fitfully against his shoulder… and, when his back starts to cramp, shifts them both so they’re laying on the bed, Luz curls into him, deaf to the world, as Joe maneuvers himself out of his boots and tucks the covers around them both.

If Luz is a flame in a mineshaft, then what does that make him? _Stone_ — steady stone. Always there, unwavering, and goddamn tough to break.

Joe stirs the next morning to sunlight filtering in through the room’s checkered curtains, and the body against him twisting around. He cracks his eyes open against the brightness, and finds George Luz blinking down at him. His dark hair is a bird’s nest; the corners of his eyes are crinkled, like he’s secretly finding something hilarious.

“Morning, Luz,” Joe murmurs, and Luz’s eyes widen.

The grin that dawns across his face is the best damn thing Joe has ever seen.


End file.
